


More Than You Know

by ColetheWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, drunk!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/pseuds/ColetheWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek helps Stiles get back home after finding the teen out in the middle of the woods as drunk as can be. And as Stiles falls asleep, he talks....</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than You Know

**Author's Note:**

> So I took a break from writing smut and wrote some hurt/comfort/fluff. Hope you guys enjoy it :)

As the sun finishes shining its last few rays of light over Beacon Hills for the evening, Stiles stays sprawled across his bed staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom with a bowl of popcorn at his side. By now the popcorn has gotten stale and he’s given up on attempting to scarf it down his throat. Instead he spends a good twenty minutes tossing bits of the popped goodness up in the air, only to lay there motionless on the bed while the pieces rain back down landing on his chest.

Stiles knows that he probably shouldn’t have looked forward to Scott coming over to watch movies and play video games.  Scott almost always bailed on Stiles’ Saturday night plans ever since he was bitten. At first it was because Scott had better things to do with Allison. But since Scott and Allison were broken up, Isaac has taken Allison’s spot. In fact, Isaac has taken Stiles’ spot. It hurts, and Stiles tries to not let it get to him but sometimes he just wants to scream. It’s like Scott doesn’t even bother to notice him anymore and Stiles is beginning not to even bother with it.

Behind the smile, sarcasm and jokes, lays the real Stiles. A teenage boy hurting and broken. Longing for the friendship he once enjoyed. The bromance felt shattered though and Stiles did nothing but blame himself for it.  In Stiles’ mind he thinks its punishment. He was the one who practically dragged Scott to go look for the other half of Laura’s body that night. If Stiles would have just stayed home like his father told him to, then Scott wouldn’t have been left out in the woods that night and Peter wouldn’t have turned him. Stiles fucked up. He didn’t mean to, but there was nothing he could do to fix it. So why even bother?

Stiles gets up from his bed, letting the pieces of popcorn that are sitting on his chest fall to the ground. At first he begins to walk away from the mess he’s created on the floor, but his better judgment kicks in. Or at least a _somewhat_ better judgment. He uses his foot like a broom and casually sweeps the popcorn under his bed as if it’s a completely normal task. Stiles then makes his way downstairs towards the kitchen. He drags his feet along the soft carpet of the hallway, enjoying the feeling of it graze along the soles his feet. It’s somewhat soothing up until the point he stubs his toe on the corner of the wall.

“Son of a—” Stiles cries out and bends down to gently tug on his toenail just to make sure it isn’t about to bleed or fall off. Once he determines that his toenail is doing just fine, he continues making his way down the stairs, this time at more of a hobble while he keep pressure off his toe.

Stiles finally gets to the kitchen and switches on the light. He looks around the countertops first for any snack food item that may catch his interest, but there’s nothing. So Stiles heads over to the fridge and opens it. He scans the food on the racks with his eyes, listing the items off in his head as well as muttering them softly. “Eggs, leftover pizza, watermelon, molded sandwiches….blah, blah, yuck….nothing.” Stiles shuts the fridge door at more of a slam then slouches against the kitchen island behind him.

“Nothing to do. My friend is an asshole. My dad is at work...worst. Saturday. Night. Ever.” Stiles mumbles picking at a hangnail on his thumb. He winces at the pain while he picks at it for a second but stops when he realizes it hurts too damn much. Stiles looks around the kitchen before settling his eyes on the cupboard when he father keeps the liquor.

He walks over to the cabinet and taps on the wood gently a few times with his fingernails debating on whether or not to actually open it. Within a mere ten to fifteen seconds, Stiles makes up his mind and opens the cabinet. There, on the slightly dust covered shelf, sit two completely unopened bottles of whiskey. He grabs one and pats the bottom of the bottle with the palm of his hand with a smirk.

“Eh, why the fuck not?” Stiles questions to himself with a shrug before he heads out of the kitchen into the living room. Stiles grabs his hoodie that’s laying on the back of the couch, slips on his sneakers and heads out the front door. It must be at least thirty degrees outside by now and the cold air of the night is making him shiver. Stiles grips the bottle of whiskey tighter in his hand and heads out for the nearby woods.

The woods are definitely not the safest place to be at night time, but it’s somewhere Stiles can be alone. It’ll be just him, his thoughts, and a bottle of whiskey to calm his nerves and hopefully suck the stress from his body. Stiles makes his way down the sidewalk, looking behind him occasionally just to make sure no psychopath with a butcher knife and/or chainsaw was following him. Eventually Stiles makes it to his turn off from the sidewalk leading into the dense woods.

Stiles walks down a gravel path carefully as he avoids stepping on anything creepy and crawly.  It’s quiet and eerie. The loud crunch of his feet crushing dead leaves on the ground echo through the woods. Stiles feels a need to shush his own feet at the sounds. Ultimately, Stiles finally makes his way into an opening in the woods. The lakeside camp ground. It’s quite beautiful in the daytime, but at night it’s a whole ‘nother story.

As he walks into the middle of the campground, he kicks branches towards the fire pit. It takes a few minutes, but he accumulates enough branches, twigs and leaves in the pit that will be able to maintain a small fire. Stiles takes a lighter from the pocket of his jeans to crouches down next to the pile of brush. He flicks the lighter a few times and exhales loudly with relief we he finally manages to start a small flame.

Embers from the blaze float up into the night sky and Stiles watches them as he uncaps the whiskey bottle eagerly. Stiles’ fingers are stiffened by the frozen temperatures, making it just a bit difficult to actually get the cap off. When he finally does, he takes a swig from the bottle and clenches his eyes tightly out of reflex from the taste. It burns. Just a bit though. Nothing horrendously torturous, although Stiles thinks he should probably deserve some sort of torture for ruining his best friend’s life.

Stiles sits down on the cold, rocky ground next to fire. He enjoys the heat emitting from the flames as he takes a series of small sips of his liquor to adjust to the flavor. The small sips turn into bigger and bigger gulps and soon enough Stiles has just a little less than half a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“I’d like to make a toast to…uh…uh friendships. Eh, buddy?” Stiles offers aloud and turns to look to his right as if Scott were sitting there. “Oh that’s right asshole….you’re not fucking here cause’ you’re off with Isaac. Pssht… Isaac. Lame ass.” Stiles utters before taking another sip.

Stiles stands up, stumbles back down, then stands back up again remaining unsteady on his feet. He raises his bottle to the sky and starts yelling. “This is for you Scott! I’m sorry I fucked up for life. I’m sorry I continue to bother you when you clearly don’t want anything to do with me. I’m sorry for being even alive.” Stiles slurs and pours out a good amount of whiskey into the fire only to watch it flare up.

“…That’s for you bro.” Stiles takes another drink then raises his bottle again like before. “And this is for you Stiles!  I’m sorry that you are a fucking loser. I’m sorry that you wasted ten years of your goddamn life chasing after a girl who still doesn’t even want to know you. I’m sorry that everyone hates you…”

He pours out the rest of his whiskey into the fire only to fall to his knees in front of the flames. His now empty bottle falls from his loosened grip and bangs against the rock ground. He sits there for a moment, mesmerized by the beauty of fire. How can something so destructive be so beautiful? Stiles raises his hand just a little and begins moving it towards the fire. Just to feel. Just to feel is he actually can _feel_ anymore. The heat of the flames begins to get more and more intense as his fingertips come closer to the fire. Closer…closer…just pushing them a bit more closer and—

“Stiles!” A booming voice thunders through the woods making Stiles jolt his hand away from the fire, frightened.

Stiles immediately turns around to meet the piercing green eyes of Derek Hale. Stiles knows that Derek lives nearby, but what the hell was Derek doing out here? Why did Derek stop him from touching the fire? Actually, Stiles doesn’t really care why. He’s done.

“Derek,” Stiles starts as he picks up the empty whiskey bottle and holds it upside down to show that there’s nothing left in it. “Empty. See? Nothing left for you.” Stiles throws the bottle weakly at Derek and laughs when Derek catches it in midair.

“What are you doing out here Stiles?” Derek asks and steps forward, still holding the whiskey bottle in hand.

“And you care why?” Stiles asks as he stumbles towards Derek, coming so close that the two are nearly chest to chest.

Derek’s nose twitches at how bad Stiles reeks. The smell of alcohol on the teen’s breath is practically gagging Derek, although he is able to refrain from letting his face contort at the smell. “What are you do out here Stiles? Answer me.” Derek demands and Stiles gives in.

“Taking a break from ruining everyone’s lives…”Stiles explains, slurring so bad it’s almost not understandable. Stiles chuckles dryly and presses his bony finger into the thickness of Derek’s torso. “Sooo….leave me and my booze alone.” Stiles takes the whiskey empty bottle from Derek’s hand and begins to sip as if there’s still alcohol left.

“Where the hell did it all go?” Stiles asks sounding and looking seriously confused. “I just had a second bottle that was filled—”

Derek takes in just how wasted Stiles truly is. For a moment it shocks him. Stiles didn’t seem like the kid to go out, by himself, and drink himself into oblivion. Something was up and Derek began debating on whether he wanted to get involved with stupid teenage drama.

“Come on. You’re going home.” Derek orders as he takes hold of Stiles’ wrist with a firm grip. Despite Derek’s generous effort to help, Stiles is too drunk to see it. He pulls away from Derek’s grip hissing profanities and attempting to run off.

“Fuck you Derek. I’m fine. I don’t need some dumbass animal babysitting me. Fuck off.” Stiles yells out, stumbling away in a lopsided sprint until he trips over a rock and falls onto the ground. The glass like rocks on the ground awaiting his fall shred into the palms of his hands. His hands begin pouring blood, and Stiles holds them up to his line of vision to see the extent of the damage.

“Uh oh…my dad is going to be so pissed.” Stiles chokes out as he begins crying and trying to wipe the blood onto the ground. He’s too out of it to realize that rubbing his hands on the ground is only making the cuts worse.

Derek walks over to Stiles who’s laying on the ground, sobbing and winces in pain each time he tries to wipe the blood onto the ground.

“Stand up.” Derek helps Stiles stand upright before picking him up in his arms and carrying him off towards the Stilinski home.

Stiles mumbles while he continues to cry. “I think my finger is gone Derek…I think I lost it. We have to go back.”

Derek looks down and of course all of Stiles’ fingers are still there. Perfectly intact. Yes, they’re covered in blood, but everything will be fine as soon as Stiles cleaned up.

The two make their way back to the house and Derek opens the door with Stiles’ house key. They head inside, shutting the front door behind them to lock the cold out. Derek leads Stiles upstairs to the bathroom slowly and taking extra time to help Stiles at every stumble he makes. Eventually they make their way into the bathroom and Derek turns on the faucet, letting it run for a couple minutes until it was at a decently warm temperature.

“Roll up your sleeves.” Derek mutters as he crouches down and grabs a wash cloth, some hand soap, and some bandages from the cabinets under the sink. Derek stands back up to see that Stiles has taken off all of his shirts completely.

The teen is just standing there in a pair of saggy jeans and sneakers. Derek does a double take quickly, taking in how Stiles’ torso is freckled with moles just like his face. Amazingly, Stiles actually didn’t look weak. His body wasn’t super muscular but there was definitely some definition and—

“Here…” Derek lets out and grabs hold of Stiles’ hands before forcing them under the warm water. He lathers them up with soap and scrubs deep into the cuts all while trying to keep a grip on them because Stiles is crying out about how it stings.

“It hurts Derek. It hurts…make it stop. Please…” Stiles begs.

Derek continues washing up the bloodied hands until the sharp red color fades and fades until there is no more blood left on Stiles’ hands.

“It’ll stop hurting in a minute. Stand here, stop squirming and let me do this or you’ll get an infection.” Derek explains.

Stiles doesn’t stop talking. However, something changes. The tone of Stiles’ voice changes. It doesn’t sound scared anymore. Instead it sounds like a begging whine of sadness, pain and weakness. Something Derek never has heard from Stiles before.

“No it won’t stop hurting Derek. It never stops hurting. It keeps hurting. Please just make it stop. All of it. Make it all stop.” Stiles mumbles with tears now streaming down his cheeks.

Derek stops as he hears the rather unsettling plea spill from Stiles’ lips. He sounds beaten. Like he’s really, seriously done with everything. It actually scares Derek, even though he’ll probably never admit it in the future. Derek stops scrubbing the teen’s hands to look into Stiles’ eyes trying to pull a reason from them. He shuts off the water and dries Stiles’ hand with a towel before dressing the wounds with anti-bacterial ointment and bandages.

Stiles stumbles across the hall into his bedroom while Derek finishes cleaning the mess in the bathroom. After he’s done, he walks into the bedroom to see Stiles stripping down to just his boxers and getting underneath the covers.

Stiles is still completely out of it. He reeks of booze and dirt, but he’s obviously way too tired to take a shower so he’ll have to go to sleep like that. Derek stands in the bedroom for a moment, watching as Stiles’ eyes get heavier until they’re shutting and staying shut for long intervals of time before some little noise jolts Stiles awake again.

After a few minutes, Stiles’ eyes have been closed for a while so Derek begins walking out of the darkened bedroom. He almost makes it to the doorframe before Stiles starts talking in an unusually quiet and calm tone.

“Goodnight Derek. I love you.” Stiles kind of mummers then shifts in his bed with eyes still closed yet his face is facing Derek across the room.

Derek takes in how genuinely peaceful Stiles looks when he’s sleeping. No sarcasm being tossed around. No loud remarks and snarky facial expressions. Derek walks out of the room and down the stairs when his ears tune into Stiles’ voice still murmuring upstairs.

“I really do love you Derek…more than you know. And I think about you a lot. About your smile. How nice you are to me even though I’m irritating.” Stiles pauses and shifts again in his covers but Derek stays downstairs to listen.

“One day I’ll be able to tell you this when you’re here.” Stiles continues and Derek realizes that he’s not meant to hear any of this. Stiles thinks he’s gone. Stiles thinks he’s completely alone in the house and—

“Sometimes I just look at you, and I want to just wrap my arms around your waist and hug you…and be with you.  Sometimes I want to kiss you. So badly, Derek. But I can’t because I know I’ll probably lose teeth for doing it.” Stiles stops to sniff and wipe away tears and dammit Derek can hear that too. It’s sad. It pains Derek to hear it, but he can’t turn away and leave. He can’t exactly rush up stairs either.

“I love you, Derek...so much more than you know. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Suggestions? How'd you guys like it?


End file.
